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What a Handsome 22-Year-Old Man Did to Try and Convince Me to Give Up My Sugar Daddy

March 12, 2015

My older man, Patrick, had one son, Michael, who, at 22, was the youngest of his three kids. After the pos­i­tive expe­ri­ence of meet­ing his old­est daugh­ter, Juliet, I actu­ally looked for­ward to meet­ing Michael—I got along really well with Juliet, so I was sure I’d do just as well with Michael. Besides, I always got along bet­ter with men than women any­way, and I also thought that at that age, he would be pretty non-judgmental.

Michael worked at Patrick’s fam­ily busi­ness and saw his dad pretty much every day. They were close and I knew there was noth­ing Patrick wouldn’t do for him.

We arranged to meet Michael at a Chicago sports bar near Wrigley Field late one Fri­day after­noon. The place was, of course, packed and loud. There must have been over 100 tele­vi­sions in there. It def­i­nitely wasn’t my kind of place, but def­i­nitely Michael’s ideal venue; he was a young man liv­ing in one of the trendi­est neigh­bor­hoods on the north side of Chicago—this was right up his alley.

We walked in and Patrick pointed out Michael at the bar. He was sur­rounded by his bud­dies. Patrick intro­duced me, but it was so loud that I’m not sure he even heard my name. Con­ver­sa­tion was impos­si­ble and I felt so uncom­fort­able, as Patrick tried to be “one of the boys” with all his friends there.

Finally, the crowd thinned out a bit and I found myself stand­ing next to Michael. I thought this would be a good time to try and make con­ver­sa­tion, but before I could say any­thing, he turned to me and said, “My dad can’t have any more chil­dren, you know. He’s been fixed.”

I was speech­less. Then I was hurt and con­fused. Mind you, Patrick had not heard that remark. I ignored the com­ment and, instead, asked him where he lived in the city. What I really wanted to ask him was why he didn’t have a girl­friend with him on a Fri­day night, but I restrained myself. We had already got­ten off on the wrong foot.

Michael was a younger—much younger—version of his father: tall and slim with exquis­ite looks that would only improve with age. His hair was dark and wavy, much like what his dad’s must have looked like years ago.

We had another cock­tail over small talk and finally said good­bye. Patrick had had enough of the bar scene, and Michael was going to stay on and meet up with more of his friends later.

Patrick and I walked to the car and talked about where we should stop for din­ner. I hadn’t yet decided how I would tell Patrick about the bomb his son had just dropped on me, but it wasn’t long after we had set­tled into our cozy booth at a pop­u­lar bistro that I just blurted it out.

Patrick just laughed. I couldn’t be more con­fused. He then told me that his son was just jok­ing. I said I didn’t think so. And besides, if his son wasn’t try­ing to sab­o­tage our rela­tion­ship, why would he even bring it up?

The con­ver­sa­tion also got me think­ing. I was in my mid-30s and in what was quickly becom­ing a seri­ous, long-term rela­tion­ship with a man who would never be the father of my kids. For the first time, I actu­ally felt my bio­log­i­cal clock tick­ing. Almost as if he could sense my uneasi­ness, Patrick sur­prised me with a gift: my first Rolex watch. All of a sud­den, moth­er­hood was the last thing on my mind.